The chance of anything coming from that there Mars...

...are 100% actually!

See, that Robbing Hood has created a new audio version, which is quite brilliant.

And that reminded me of a major failing of John Wayne's Musical Version Of HG Wells' That War Of Them Worlds.

Namely, That Eve Of That War, and the specific lyric appertaining to this particular blogular title.

So, ole Dick Burton quoth the following piece of narration:

At midnight, on the 12th of August, a huge mass of luminous gas erupted from Mars and sped towards Earth. Across two hundred million miles of void, invisibly hurtling towards us, came the first of the missiles that were to bring so much calamity to Earth. As I watched, there was another jet of gas. It was another missile, starting on its way. And that's how it was for the next ten nights: A flare, spurting out from Mars. Bright green, drawing a green mist behind it. A beautiful, but somehow... disturbing sight. Ogilvy, the astronomer, assured me we were in no danger. He was convinced there could be no living thing on that remote, forbidding, planet...

Now, after establishing the fact that something has erupted from Mars is speeding towards Earth, that chap who's just in a haystack musically warbles:

The chances of anything coming from Mars are a million to one, he said (aaaaah, aaaaaah), The chances of anything coming from Mars are a million to one... but still... they come!"

Now, first of all, this is NOT what he said at all! Burto clearly states that Ogilvy says something along the lines of:
"We're in no danger. There's nowt living on Mars. You twat."

Secondly, they've clearly established something is coming from Mars. They've seen a plume of luminescent gas speeding towards Earth! At this point, they don't know it's a missile, cylinder, meteor, or what, but it is something. So, the chances of "anything" coming from Mars, is not "a million to one", because it's right fucking there! They're looking at the bloody thing!

Now, in the book, the actual quote  is:
"The chances against anything manlike on Mars are a million to one,” he said.

Which is perfectly correct, as them Martians are all Cthonic hentai squiddery ballsacks. So clearly, the lyric should be "The chances of anything manlike on Mars, are a million to one, he said". Which not only fits the tune, but is also factually correct.

As it's the 40th Anniversary of the albumen on Monday, I wonder if Young Master Wayne will fix this gaping error, and release a(nother) modified version of Bruce Wayne's Musical Version Of HG Wells' That War Of Them Worlds: The Nude Generation With Correct Lyrics And Bonus Hentai Tentacular Rapey Bits. 

Well, it's more likely than Jeff Wayne's Animated CGI Movie Of Jeff Wayne's Musical Version Of HG Wells' That War Of Them Worlds ever being finished off!

Ooh, Ash vs Evil Dead auction coming up!

AND you can get some of the used screen props/costumes!!

Looks like my one and only chance
To actually get into Dana DeLorenzo's pants!!!

https://vipfanauctions.com/ash-vs-evil-dead-prop-and-costume-auction/

What was Wenger thinking, sending Walcott on that early?

So, apparently Ingerlund played The Footy again, so everyone stayed at home/down the pub.

So I got to go home early coz we had no games tonight.

Not one.

And I'm not entirely sure why! Especially when they could have been having an aweXym time with me.

Instead, I ended up doing some Freddie Mercury hoovering and polishing. And a bit of repairs.

But getting back to to Kick The Spheroid: I'm told that it doesn't matter if Ingerlund win or lose, because they've already won some points, so they still win even if they lose....

eh?

SO WHY THE JIZZERY SNOT ARE THEY PLAYING?!?!

In my book, if you lose - YOU LOSE! You lost, so home you go!



It's a bit unfair on the other team too! If they win - where's the sense of achievement? "Wha-hey lads! You beat Ingerlund! But it makes fuck-all difference, because they've already beat you".

Never understood BootABall, me!

You're not alone...

I'll wait 'till the end of time

Open your mind

surely it's plain to see...

...it's stupid o'clock in the fucking morning, and we're raising a mob in the village square!

March forth, bearing torches! Through the fields and forests! Over ditches until dawn!

And as morning breaks, reach the clifftop and gaze upon ye beach!

Perilously plunge at speed, down through the bristly foliage and dive upon the dunes!

Finally, race over the sandy shore, right into the path of panicked ponies!

Rampaging roans stampede o'er ye cresting waves, before colliding with ye olde mobbe to celebrate 250 years of banking.

As you do!

It's coming home, it's coming home, it's coming...

Fuck, it's arrived.

Judging by the screams, an English pig-bladder booter has successfully kicked a small sphere into a box 8,118% larger than the sphere itself! 

 And not just once, multiple times too! 

This is such an overwhelming achievement, people are descending into Cthonic madness! 

I walked through a door not much larger than myself - let alone one 8,118% larger of titanic R'lyehan proportions! I don't see anyone celebrating me for it! 

"ooh, but Xym, they have to compete against 11 other players!" 

Yeah - and I had to complete with hoardes of twatarse chavscum with feral offspring, double buggies and tattooed knuckle-dragging gorillas... 

...and their neanderthal husbands/bfs/sidecocks... 

...barging out of entrances instead of exits, and generally being obnoxious obstructionists! 

But how fêted am I? 

Buggery sod all! 

Yet a girlyboy in shorts is worshipped for swinging a leg and getting a tiny object into a huge hole!

And I don't mean his cock into Katie Cheap-Price's pussy. or something.

Get up, come on, Xym's down with the sickness...

...bleurgh!

Think this weekend may be a bit of a wash out.

I be quite unwell.

Don't expect much bloggery.

I need excitement, oh, I need it bad...

...and Xym's the best you've ever had!

Wow!

Not only did I give one of my Top Hot Pretties the best time she's ever had...

..I'm now the most amusing person someone's ever met!

I'm great I is!!

We're so Pretty, oh so Pretty...

....vadge/cunt!

Televisual advertisement never fails to amuse me!

There's this advert, where some middle-aged strumpet is worried about dampening her gushing gusset, so she has to wear Special Undercrackers

And she's found a pair of pisscatcher pants that are really pretty!

To whit: this sensuous crotchsponge cover from that Always Discrete When You Secrete Boutique:

Phwoar! Check out them Bridget Joneses!

Hold on... they look a bit... bandagey? A bit like them weird bandage pants that Noomi Rapist wore in Prometheus! 

Clearly, someone misheard the request for erotic bondage pants for golden shower fetishists, and ended up with bandage pants!

Stockin' on up with some Spirits in the Xy...

Bleugh!

Seems upping my meds hath made The Xym somewhat ill again. Looks like it takes a couple of weeks to settle. Yuk!

So, in theory, I was to be Dancing With A Pretty in the practice session between Beginners and Advanced...

...but I was too ill! The heat! Oh, the terrible heat! So hot in That There Talk. I had to sit outside and cool down in the breeze...

...because the aforementioned Pretty had been snaffled by someone else for hot shoe shufflement.

I was going to give the Advanced class a go... but once the basic move had been performed, it wsa somewhat... frantic.

So I sat that out too!

Then, as I watched, the actual lesson was quite sedate, so I was quite disappointed that I hadn't joined in... until they put the music on, and I was extremely glad I skipped it.

So I staggered off home, a-coughing and spluttering, near vomitationary levels.

Wondering why Vimto is called Vimto. Is it because it's an anagram of Vomit?

And then I get in and check Farcebook.

Seems all anyone's bothered about is a bunch of talentless gormsters running about a field, booting an airsack at a huge opening,

Not me.

No-one's bothered about me!

Warm jelly & mustard...

Yes, it's Father's Day.

(and me Sister's Birthday, but we don't speak about that!)

I've had 3 full day shifts, followed by a morning shift this morning. So, I thought, being 'spoons Sunday, I'd head up for a slap up lunch down that Glass House

(And you know what they say about Glass Houses. People who live in them need to close the blinds when removing their trousers. And these glass houses also have glass ceilings, which Them Womens are always trying to smash. Which presumably makes it a bit difficult to have an upstairs bed/bath/spare room. On the other hand, it does mean they don't have to worry about upskirting as they parade about the upper levels of the house. or something)

Anyhoo, being Father's Day, every selfish fecker had taken their paternal figure out for a familial swanky nosh-up down The 'spoons...

..a nice, cheap, wanky nosh-up off the Sunday Cheapo Special menu, more like!

In other words, all the Dads are scoffing up the all the cheap steak options! And all the other offers too!

And all that's left is all the high-priced options and... the 'orrible stuff no-one ever orders off the menu!

Anyhoo, I don't know why some of these "fathers" are being so fêted - seems that quite a lot of them have given up on "fathering", judging by their feral offspring roaming about the place, battering people with their toys and trying to gozz up the extremely short skirts of the waitresses...

My baby don't mess around, 'cause she loves me so, this I know fo' sho'...

Ouija! Ouija!!

So quoth ye dyslexic minstels "Outkast".

Now, I've heard the word Ouija pronounced many ways. 

Almost all of them totally wrong!

The most popular, of course, is the "Weegee" board.

But that would be a corkboard filled with black and white photographs of death taken by Ascher (Usher? Arthur) Fellig.

Then there's the "Widgey" board, which is probably a poke-yer-mum. or a childish name for a cock.

And of course, there's the spunksocks who call it a WeeJar (which is something totally different. and not in a tiny glass case kind of way. More a Donald Trump Prostitute Mattress Residue Squeezed Into A Typical Jammy Cuntainer kind of way. probably. or something).

And then there's cockmunching mingebrackets who call it a Luigi Board after Mario Mario's sibling psychic sidekick. and plumber. or something.

Outkast got it right. It's Wee Yah, being a combination of Oui (Wee) - the French for Yes, and Ja (yah), the German for Yes.

So that mean's it's pronounced WeeYah.

But why is it called a YesYes Board? Surely it should be a Ouinon (YesNo) Board?

Ah, but then it would sound like Wean on Board... which sounds like some car rear-window signage to do with Bitty Titties when dogging in lay-bys.

And it can't be a Janein Board, because (a) who's Jane, and why is she in a board?, and (b) JaNein sounds a bit... pædoey, and (c) GERMAN!! 

I suppose we could call it Nonnein (NoNo), but then people would be rubbing it all over their hirsute extremeties to remove their follicular fuzz.

Me, I call a spade a shovel, so I just call it a Spirit Board. Or Witchboard. 

...or Talking Bored, which you're getting from me right now, I reckon!

Some people get by, with a little...

...cunterstanding!

Some people get by,

With a whole lot more need for a punch in the chops!

Cunterstanding: A level of intellect attributed to those with an inability to comprehend basic concepts. Often applies to those who state that they do not need things "mansplaining" to them, when they clearly do. A cunt who doesn't understand.

*Sees a door marked Pull"
*Sees woman pushing on door"
"You need to pull that door to open it"

"I do know how to open a door, thank you very much. I don't need you mansplaining it to me"

*woman stubbornly continues to push at door*

That is a prime example of high cunterstanding. Door needs pulling, person refuses to understand the concept, rages out when the bleedin' obvious is pointed out.

There are soooo many examples I could make, but after tonights cockwombling evening, I take high umbrage with the Mexican muppets at Cock In Her.

Now, like many poncey restaurants constantly under threat of Going Under, they always have half price / 2-for-ones / free plonk offers... and apparently never any custom.

So, the way to draw the punters in, is to add more tables outside.

But not outside your own premises, of course. That would make it untidy outside! So, you keep your frontage clear, and slowly encroach upon your neighbours premises.

In tonights case, not just slightly over the boundary, but right over. Across the Emergency (and main) Entrance.

So, what do we do when we need to go out?

Shift it!

So, back onto their premises they go. Chairs, tables, bollard signage - all shunted over. Now I can get out and get our frontage sorted. And when done, go back and tidy up their placement, all nice and neat. And a good job I made of it too, considering the added furniture.

Then Mr Manager comes over, asking that next time we go in and ask before we move it!

You cunterstand that that we need to move your shit off our property so we can get out, but you want to ask us before we move it?

How about you ask us if you can put your empty chairs and tables right across our doorway and frontage, and block the emergency exit? That way, we won't have to come over and ask you to shift it?

Better still, just don't have the cunterstanding of blocking it in the first place! Ditch the gormstrosity, and put your chairs and tables in front of your restauraunt, where they should be. That way, everyone wins.

But no. Some people are just cuntybollocked fuckweasles.

Sorry readers - it's been one of those days! I would tell you of my woes, but they mainly involve things that went wrong at work, which I cannot speak of, for fear of revealing the Secrets Of The Rooms.

And Cock In Her cunt was the penultimate straw!

The final straw being Haunted by one of them there Old Women Evil Insidious Spirity strumpets upon the occult omnibus!

Today, we were able to shut up shop early(ish!), so I got the 9:30pm bus.

Usually, I end up on the 10pm bus... unless we're held back, and then I get the 10:30 bus. No matter which one, there's always the same mad old crone on it. Talking away at her non-existent companion, whilst scoffing oranges.

And I gets the 9:20 bus, and BAM! Guess who's on it?

The possessed pensioner from Beyond! This time, chanting in tongues unspeakable by man. probably. 

How can she be on every bus I get after work? Am I psychic, and the only one to see the travelling spectre haunting the WorstBus purple line route? Or is she haunting me on my travel home?

Will I wake up in the middle of the night, just to see her all black shouded and screaming in me face, before dragging me through Ye Spheres so Azathoth can feast on my soul as the black blood of Yibb-Tstll suffocates me?

Or am I being stalked by a mad old maid, pre-empting my bus-based embarkment by one prior stop?

Or am I just seeing things? And if so, why a hagard old muttering witch? Why don't I get a nudie nubile succuoffonabus spirit instead?

Life is SO unfair sometimes!

A mondo teeno giving...

Now, as my Sister is often quothing on a night out:

"You know what my Nanna used to say: If you want to get some head, get yourself a hat!"

Not ahead - some head!

Now, as a prolific Hatter, I can attest that her Nanna talks a shit load of utter bollocks! Oft times I have been out in my millinery raiment, and not once has it resulted in phallic sucklement resulting in ejaculatory esophagus emissions.

So, either Nanna is spouting shite, or she was the only person for a fetish for noshing off the helmets of behatted rakes. 

Anyhoo, tonight I did get head! And for only £2 too! Off my mate Kelly! A proper head with al hair and stuff to practice braiding upon. Or for me, to store me hats and masks on! Here's the saucy little minx:

She'll do for a little NoseyBonk!

Anyhoo, apart from getting a head, I also got pestered by others to To Go Ask People To Dance. Unfortunately, such persuasion was overheard by a one of the Dancing Pretties. So, during the Improvers' Class, the babe brought it up!

"Don't you dance in the practice bit then"

"Um... like... no! I get a bit nervous having to dance in front of everyone, especially when it's all crowded with professional dancers"

"I kept wondering if I should ask you or not. I'll come and grab you next week."

"Um.. yeah.. that'd be cool!"

So... y'all know me. Next week, I may have to cancel class due to having a bone in me leg, otherwise I'll have to interface with a Pretty! Not only that - dance too! And it's partner dancing! Lindyhop!

Solo, I'm a fucking Dance God! I'm not great at synchronising with Other Peoples. Let alone Pretties. And now I've no choice but to accept and take her up on her dancing request! Fate, up against Xym's Will! Through that there thick and thin, Xym will wait until she gives herself to him he can make his excuses and cancel it, though he knows he must be killing time...

"♪ And that there focus of fear

is in the creases of a dress

a female dress

How did Xym come to drowning in this mess

Ah, fucking mess! ♫"

They go with bean, bangers, bacon, burgers, fish fingers - FISH FINGERS! Eggs in, Eggs on, GAMMON, steak chops...

Phew! That gawd that's over!

It's been well over a month since Near Death, so I started picking up extra shifts at work. It IS holiday season, after all.

And I needs to pay for my Hallowe'en Nephilim ticket next week!

This is the first time since The Incident I've done a full, 13hr day. Not just one 13hr day... 4 in a row (except for today, which is one game shorter).

I'm absolutely shattered, a teeny bit sick, but on the whole - coped with it well! Yay! On the mend!

Shame to come home and have a quick look at FarceBook, and see I have some very horrible friends, which depresses me.

Never understood how some people can be so virulently nasty about people being virulently nasty. It's like - some people think other are scum and need hounding out... so I need to be scummier and hound out the hounders.

Honestly - that just makes you as bad as them!

I had this a few years ago with some Nazi wannabes complaining about people who were Nazi wannabes. 

And the other day, someone else was organising a trip to London. Apparently to protest about a foreigner coming over here to let them know we don't want their kind in our country, because he doesn't like foreigners going over their and doesn't want their kind in his country.

And now, I'm seeing really hateful posts about Gammon. 

Now, I thought Gammon was Professor Slocome's butler. Or possibly a pig-meat song that Weebl hasn't covered so far. 

Apparently not!

Gammon is apparently a new race of people who should be ridiculed & hounded out of any area they are found in. And then have further abuse hurled at them on Facebook.

Now, I love my friends dearly, but oooooh, they try my patience when they start being as 'orrible as the 'orrible people they're being 'orrible about!

But then, I'm just as bad. People who put Pineapple on Gammon (or Pizza) deserve to be kicked out of our country and sent somewhere where other sick psychos reside, feasting on their blasphemous bounty like the sub-human detrius they are!

Same goes for people who apply to be on Jeremiah Kyle as well! Or Love Island. Or Pig Botherer. 

Which brings up back to gammon! C'mon Weebl - where's the gammon love? Ham, Bacon, Pork... what about the Godly Gammon?

Here comes that rain again...

Damn you, meteorlogical malaise!

Busy day today. So busy, I missed the usual bus back. And the sky began to spit a bit.

Oh woe, oh wail, oh misery!

So, I cancelled all plans for late night Birthday pubbery & BBQ burgery.

That's burgery, not buggery. or burglary. or something.

Anyhoo. Stumbled onto the later bus - got a txt. BBQ done, but Cards Against Humanity going on. Stop off betwixt bus & home for a bit.

As Fate would have it, the bus was about to reach the relevant stop!

So I hopped off.

Then realised I was one stop early, and had to sickly trudge up the road!

Anyhoo, upshot: A it of gameage - won 7 rounds in 40 mins. Not bad, thanks to a ginger's freckled ballsack, Panda Sex, and various other depraved card draws.

However, upon leaving for the final, final bus of the night, Ye Deity Above decided to unzip his trouserial fly and let loose Ye Golden Showerre O' Ye Goddes.

A moistened mane would be a disaster! Luckily, he of the Angry Penis Purple Curly Wurly Murder, lent me one of them Salmonella (ella ella, eh, eh, eh) to stave off the final drips of God's dripping cockend.

However, it seems that my raiment is not rain resistant! Piratewear is pretty porous, permitting precipitation to permate the product and dampen my epidermis!

How them there Black and Blue Beards kept dry upon the high seas, I'll never know!

I got a carrot, I got a Yam...

As y'all know, I work in Escape Rooms. Locking people up for an hour, and laughing at them trying to find a way out.

One of our rooms is called The Laboratory Of Dr Lev Pasted.

Clearly, we need to rename it The Lavatory Of Dr Lev Pasted!

Now, when visiting an Escape Room, the one thing you are certain of, is that you will be locked in a room for up to an hour. So, it would make sense to visit the conveniences before you visit.

Especially if you've just left a pub/restauraunt/café.

Because clearly, such places are legally bound to provide pisspots & shithouses for their dining & drinking consumers. So it makes sense to use them before you leave for a venue where you're gonna be locked up.

Well, that doesn't occur to most people!

So, they rock up, 20 mins late because they were finishing off their Gin and Tonics, all needing to use the singular staff toilet.

Except those that want to hold it in, thinking they can last a whole hour.

Now, what happens when you've been in a room for 55 minutes with 5 minutes to go, and you need a pee? Do you:
    a) Last out the remaining 5 mins
    b) Ask to be let out to use the loo
    c) When friends ask "You OK? Do you need to pop out?", you answer "Nah, I'm OK", then go over to a corner, heavily piss your pants, try to hide your sodden crotch & legs, and squelch out at the end leaving urinary footprints across the room, out the door, and out the building.

Obviously the answer is (c)!

The poor girl running the game had no idea what was going on - you see a chap go off into a corner and start crotch fiddling, you think he's having a crafty fap! How do you deal with that?

Thank gawd he didn't need to take a shit!

Ah, Monsturd!

"First you take a dump in your pants
Then you do the Shit Your Pants dance
Round and round and round you will prance
When you do the Shit Your Pants dance"

(Tender lumplings everywhere) life's no fun without a good scare, Sherrif Brackett...

TOMORROW!

Tomorrow we get the actual trailer for HALLOWEEN (2)018!!

It had better be better than that pile o' shite they trailed for Suspiria!

I remember when Natalie Portnom was involved, but she ended up ballerina-ing to Black Swan instead. Sounded good back then.

Two of my favourite films... OK, Halloween (2)018 is a direct sequel to Halloween (1)978, and I'm looking forward to tomorrow's trailer, esp as John Carpenter is involved¹

Suspiria, however, is a different kettle of guide dogs.

All bold glaring Disney/Technicolor, the maddening Goblin score, the dream-scapeyness from Daria Nicolodi, the child allusions, Dario's vision... the ART - Fuck, every frame of the film is pure Art. You can't remake it!

I recently got the 4k restoration and it is AWESOME! I saw Goblin perform a live score at Union Chapel with the movie on a huge screen (and almost copped off with an Asia Argento Lookalike).

But the trailer for the remake looks a right mess. Palette: Dull. Music: Thom Yorke & Dull. Standard horror tropes. Ridiculous shots with no bearing on the original. Looks like it's been converted to a standard modern dull day by-the-book generic horror.

I really hope that the final movie lives up to what Suspiria is... but I'm not holding out much hope.

I just hope the Halloween Trailer doesn't let me down.

¹ EVEN IF HIS "CLASSIC THEME" FOR HALLOWE'EN WAS A COMPLETE RIP-OFF OF THE THEME FROM ONE OF HIS (AND MY) FAVOURITE FILMS THAT HALLOWEEN WAS INSPIRED BY: DARIO ARGENTO'S PROFONDO ROSSO (THEME BY CLAUDIO SIMONETTI/GOBLIN).

Flash is fast, Flash is cool, Francois sez fas, Flashe' no do

6th day of the 6th month of...

2018!

And the number of That There Beast is 666.

Three sixes!

And three sixes make 18!

6/6/'18

And was there an Apocalypse at 7:06 (66 minutes past 6)?

Was there buggery sod as like!!

However, I have heard that another Rapture is due.

Now, some people mock them religious nutjobs, who keep banging on about The Rapture coming, and it never does.

Well, first of all, that's bollocks. Rapture came in 1980 on Blondie's album Autoamerican, before being released as a single in January 1981.

Second of all - people tend to forget The Rapture actually happened!

Them Scholars Of Scripture will waffle on, about how The Heavens will open, and people will ascend into The Heavens for Eternal Bliss as the Heavenly Angels (aka Camille and Kennerly, Them There Harp Twins) play their harps at you all day and night.

The Rapture has been announced several times before - and another one is on the way!

But what these Gormsters forget is that people are absolute Cunts.

No-one ever ascends on Rapture day, because no-one deserves it! Come the Rapture... fuck all happens because no-one deserves to Ascend.

Besides, if you want the sounds of the Harp Twins harping on their harps, you can buy their CDs online.

Or just perve over them on YouTube instead. 

Who needs Eternal Paradise sat up in the clouds when you got t'Internet?

Besides, clouds contain rain, so you'd have a constantly damp bum. Heaven would seem to be an eternity of being plagued by piles from moistened mudflaps.

Don't you, forget about me. No, no, no, no-oh...

...oh, wait - yes, you have!

A Pretty from Ye Olde Hades days had a game today.

"Hello -----! In you come, head straight downstairs"

"Oh, we're that rememberable from out last visit!"

Well, no - you're memorable because you're ----- ---------, and I've like, known who you are for years! Admittedly, not seen you since Hades shut down, and not had you on a friends list since MicePace, but....

...THIS IS THE XYM! No-one forgets The Xym! People I've not seen in donkeys years remember me. People I've never met before remember me! I've been collared by people from my home town at the UEA or just visiting greet me by name!

But a smokin' hot Pretty seems to have forgotten me! Unheard of!!

It's not like I blend into the background or anything! 

And to top it off, upon leaving, the Lady quoth:

"I promise not to wear such a short skirt next time! Sorry about my ass, but you tend to forget when you're focused on things."

Now, what she failed to notice is that the CCTV cameras are up high in the corners of the room, meaning any accidental rear-end exposure due to hem horizon liftage as you bend over to look at stuff is negated due to camera angles!

Fear not, young Lady - your modesty was preserved!

Worse luck for me 😞

...but you could always wear a shorter skirt next time... maybe I'll see if we can design a Hollywood "Marilyn Moonroe" room. Nothing but a leafblower under a grille so you can flash the gash your ass to your heart's cuntent. or something.

You remind me of the babe...

What babe?

Babe with that there haircut!

Who's haircut?

Rod Stewart's!

Rod Effin' Stewart indeed!

Well, I said I'd do it! It was follicle chopment and bleachening time, so we began on my David Blowie Gobbling King cranial magnificence!

And boy, what magnificence it is!

Having shaven havens on the sides means shortness of sidemane, so whilst it builds up into a proper Jareth cut, we've got the basics in place.

Which means I look like Rod Bloody Stewart!

Well, at least that means people want my body, AND they think I'm sexy! But as long as they don't cum on sugar to let me know.

Not that I can have much sugar at the moment, be it doused in spurty snatch spunk or not!

Anyhoo, I am looking like a Eighties throwback, and so far (apart from Rodders), I have been compared to:
    ●    Tina Turnip
    ●    Limahl
    ●    Twisted Sister
    ●    Pat Sharpe
    ●    Dave Lee Goth
    ●    Catweazle
    ●    Cliff Richard
    and worst of all:
    ●    Black Lace!

Rod Stewart is bad enough, but Black Lace? Nooooo!

♪ Doo Doo Doo, Fuck off and fuck your conga!

Doo Doo Doo, and then fuck off some more! ♫

Which also leads me into tonights Dance, Magic Dance class! For within that, we do 4 moves:
Swing Out (♪ don't stop to ask, Now you've found a break to make it last. You've got to find a way, say what you want to say ♪♫) Lindy Turn, Lindy Circle, and Lindy Charleston...

...and doing that Charleston always makes me think of Black Lace singing the Hokey Cokey (or Hokey Pokey of you're an American. Who's fond of poking. Probably in a sexy way during a Lambada. probably. or something).

And doing Charleston with Black Lace Hokey Cokey in yer head whilst sporting an Eighties mullety Black Lacey barnet is never good!

The Eighties is for Life, not just a Decade!

Anyhoo, flash forward pass class to GRADUATION and the Big Band - Them There King Size Barbapapas. Now, after my Near Demise, I need to take it easy, so I expended all of my energy upon Beginners Class, so I can rest me heartrate after.

And typically, for the first time ever... I gets asked to dance! And by a Pretty too!

And naturally, I had to decline, due to the exertion from Class upon me internals.

That's because of my Heart Condition, NOT the fact that a Pretty asked me to dance! Because I would have taken her up on it - not panicked, got all anxiety-y, retreated into my shell, and then fled in embarassment. Because that's the OLD Xym - not the post-death Grab-life-by-the-horns Xym...

...honest!

Yeah, I panicked as usual! Y'all know me - I'm more a solo dancer, not a Partner dancer. And if anyone try and approach me... especially when all alone, without my circlet of companions.... Run, Xym, Run!

No... RUM, Xym, RUM! CAPTAIN Xym! Spiced Gold! Texas Tea...

And talking of tea.... reminds me of Cream Tea, and Harriet's Tea Rooms!

Now, I was walking down Londinium Street, as you do, when I passed this scone emporium. I've never been in there myself, however I have seen them Waitresses in their saucy maid outfits as they delivery creamy jammy treats to those scone seekers sunning in the sun.

And everytime one pops out (oo-er missus), I have the same thought:

"He WAS trying to pork me, y'know"

This is because the Waitresses look like this:

And in Bottom, Series 3, Episode 5; "Finger", the Marvelloso Splendido Hotelo maid looks like this:

Now, maybe it's just me, but it seems like the outfits of those raven-haired temptresses from Below Stairs at Harriets are suspiciously similar to the smashing blouse of the servant girl out of Bottom!

But I bet if I went in there, with me Rik Mayall fingers, I'd be bunged out quick-smart ("Well, I've never been "bunged out" before, but I'm game for anything!")

"Oh! A spirited filly. And good teeth, too. Yes, yes, fine stock. Mmm... Firm!"

"Do you mind?!"

"It's interesting, this relationship, isn't it?"

"Interesting in what way?"

"Well, in that you're the servant girl and I'm the master. And you have to do everything I say!"

"I was wondering if you wanted me to turn your bed down?"

"What do you mean?"

"Some guests like the sheets pulled down."

"Do they? Yes! Yes, and get down on all fours and scrub out the fireplace so your bum wobbles about. Oh, and while we're on the subject, I wonder if you could show me how to use the shower?"

"Well, um You just turn these taps on here."

"No, no. I mean, I wonder if you could properly show me how to use it. You know, get your kit off and get all sort of soapy and let rivulets of water run between your heaving breasts."

"I thought you just got married this morning?"

"Well, yes, but my wife doesn't understand me."

"I think you'll find I understand you only too well!"

"Edwina! This is not what it seems!"

"You were trying to pork her!"

"No! I simply don't understand how the shower works."

"He WAS trying to pork me, y'know."

Read more: https://www.springfieldspringfield.co.uk/view_episode_scripts.php?tv-show=bottom-1991&episode=s03e05

"'course he was, my dear. Men! P'shaw! They're only ever after one thing! Sexist bastards! Us birds should stick together. Maybe in the nude. Tell me, my dear are you at all interested in the pleasures of Sappho? Perhaps you'd like to come on a winter wonderland waterbed cruise to the Isle of Lesbos?"

Violence is a preference for the herbidacious foliage of what is known as...

PLANTLIFE!!

A mourning suit can be avoided if you take a route directly away from PLANTLIFE!!

After a gloomy morning running two Haunted Houses in a row, followed by a healthy 'spoons meal, I though I'd attack the mean green mother from out of that space that has taken over me garden.

Audrey II has nothing on my herbiage!

Due to working muchly last year, I left my foliage to flounder after burning through a couple of hedgery trimmers!

Bad move!

Gardening! Them old folks are always at it! Nice, easy, stress-free activity, ideal for thems who (like me) are recovering from Heart Failure. Chippetty chop, snippity snap - job done!

Not so my Wisteria and Ivy! The bastard buds have taken over, and I really should have bought one of them there Machetés to chop though the jungle.

Didn't get very far, as the Triffids fought back!

Lashing out with thorny pseudopods of whipping stemmery! One particular git tried to have me eye out several times! No matter how many times the shears reduced its height, it insisted on rising up to batter me face repeatedly, intent on thorning me oculars out!!

My poor arms - gouged and scratched to buggery! Huge rents and wields all over me limbs, as if an Evil Dead rapey tree had been having a go at me!

Worst of all, due to blood-thinning meds, I bruise dead easy, and now my upper thigh is a red blotchy mess of broken blood vessels!

Damn you Christian Grey birch, whipping me in the nadgers with your springy thornyness! 

You are the wind beneath my...

FACE!!!

What is it with inconsiderate people on buses?

Forget the BO, the feral offsring of ChavScumMum, the queue jumpers, the you're-not-sitting-next-to-me-bag-on-seat gits...

...I'm talking about the Window Openers!

OK, so some folks like Fresh Air. They don't like the stagnant scent of grannyfarts, or think it's "a bit muggy" out. So, they open the Windows.

Now, opening windows isn't a problem - but it is if you open them like a right twat!

I've found that most people who open windows on buses, often sit on the seat right underneath the window they've just opened!

Why is that such a problem, I (don't) hear you ask!

Well, for one thing... they're under the window! These windows are hinged at the bottom, so you pull them at the top. This means you get FUCK ALL benefit from opening the window.

On the other hand, the poor sap (often me), sat on the raised seat behind, gets a full blast of air right in the face as the bus reaches velocity and the outside streams in!

And if it's raining, you get sploshed in the face too - and it don't half ruin your carefully styled barnet! Blowing it all about and dampening it, and the hairspray setting it at ridiculous angles!

Yet take to task the bellowing behemoth for causing you wind-based distress, and they get all uppity!

If you want a window open, take a seat behind the window, reach forward, and open it. That way, YOU get the benefit of the draft, and the person beneath the window is unaffected! Simples!

But Nooooo - lardy arse whingers would rather open a window, sit below it, not get any benefit, and inconvenience the person right in the breezy path! Bastards!!

Dead Man Wanking...

Reserrection Xym!

Hell's Teeth! Has it really been 3 years since I was last here? And why the cockshit am I back again?

Basically, last month The Xym suffered Near Demise. Where Them Illuniati failed, biological function decided to try assassinating Xym into oblivion!

Unluckily for you lot, them Horsepickle People fixed me internals, and after a near shave with That There Grimsby Reaper, I has decided to rectify things - such as getting back into blogging again!

So, what has ye missed in the last three years?

BLOGGOCKS
I have many unfinished blogs here - might even finish them someday. But, I did find I was writing for Other People rather than myself. So, I've decided to go back to blogging to please meself. Alas, that twatarse MicePays deleted a lot of me original blogs. Tried to get 'em recovered... but Justine Trousersnake fecked me right over, and they're gone forever.

EMPLOYMENT
The Xym has changed jobs! From the lofty heights of Norwich Union IT, to Fundraising Data Management, to Seven Secret Herbs & Spices Chicken Constructor to...

...locking people up in a room, and laughing at them trying to get out! 

BARNET
Been growing the barnet longer - it's gotten quite long, and heavy on top, so it keeps collapsing. BUT - that brush with death has inspired me to make the most of me follicle fabulousness. So, I'm a-growing it into David Blowie Gobbling King out of Labyrinth cut! Watch this space! 

PRETTIES
Of those, we shall not speak! One's Harem has somewhat collapsed, and the least said about Relationships, the better! Let's just say things haven't exactly worked out, and many bridges have been burnt.

But on the plus size, my Harem has been replaced by an ever-growing Fan Club of saucy minxes and hot dames!  Now, if only Xym could approach and talk to them....

...and no, Near Death has not managed to instil a Life Is Short Grab Every Opportunity Live For The Moment Ask That Pretty Out What's The Worst That Could Happen mentality within Xym. 

On the other hand, I did ask my Sis to ask Færie Futurewife to unblock me on FB, so at least I'd still have her on me friends list before I ended up deaded. Result: Sis got blocked too!

DANCE MAGIC DANCE!
Alas, I got too entwined within work, and it seriously curtailed social excursion. However, I now go to a Lindy Hop dance class once a week. And my other nights out reduced to 80s night at That There Talk, and occasionally Chains On Velvet at The WhatACunt. Also turning up at the Jacquard Anthems night at The Talk

GIGS
Many, many gigs! Some I'll stick post-dated on here. You may have seen Xym recently on That Tellybox at various shows. Or not.

However, due to invasionary arterial amendment, front row flouncing has had to be curtailed due to the possibility of potential demise.

That said, I was at Big Minds on Sunday, and I went absolutely mental to New Gold Dream ('81-'82-'83-'84). Yeah - really should pay attention to Nurses, coz I did nearly kill meself!

Ooooh, and I was also at the Let's Rock Norwich, ogling up ViX & Magz out of Fuzzbox. Met up with some friends later, and was bellowing out classic OMD and Human League tracks. Apparently, I can do a pretty good Phil Oakey vocal! So, sod my Fields Of The Mission Of Mercy goth tribute band - I'm gonna start Numan League! Gary Numan/Human League electronic tribute act!

First song planned: A variation of Being Boiled - "Being bald"! Listen to the voice of Buddha, saying stop this alopecia...

Not that Xym has alopecia - his luscious locks are still turning heads and getting randomly photographicated!!

ARTISTRY
I has new poeticals I need to put up! And even more XymArt for Jacquard Anthems - now just finished my 13th poster, containing all 13 posters! Now that's what I calls value for money!

HATS
I has more hats! Battered hats! Hats with clocks! Hats with goggles! And I still wants more!! And a new mask too - will be having it's first outing at Jacquard Anthems this Halloween! One clue - Jigsaw (and not the one out of Saw)...

WHAT ELSE?
What else do you wants to know! I can't remember all that's happened in the past 3 years!

So, I'm back, and hope to be blogging regularly again - more for myself, as it was in the old days.

Speak to you soon, faithful followers!